


on the basis of love

by alluringdreams



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bughead Fest (Riverdale), Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Slow Burn, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alluringdreams/pseuds/alluringdreams
Summary: "Welcome to Psych 143, otherwise known as the Psychology of Love."...Also known as the class where Betty and Jughead disagree oneverything.From the moment they crashed into each other, they couldn't get along—theyhatedeach other.But they also understood each other, better than anyone else.  She knows there's more to him than this rebel-outcast demeanor, and he knows she's just putting on on a good-girl act.Too bad they're both too stubborn to admit it.--(Written for Bughead Fest! Prompt: a large lecture, where they're the only ones who participate but don't ever agree)
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 54
Kudos: 186
Collections: 8th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Fest Collection





	1. only fools (fall for you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @miss-eee on tumblr for putting together this Bughead Fest challenge!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“I change my mind, V, no—I can’t do this.” Betty drove her heels into the ground, attempting to resist as Veronica pulled her inside the Whyte Wyrm. “No, no, _no!”_

“Yes, yes, _yes!”_ Veronica dragged Betty in by the wrist, waving excitedly to Cheryl as they approached her at the bar. “You are _so_ overdue in the sex department. You _need_ this.”

“I am _not_ overdue,” Betty argued, earning a doubtful look from Veronica. “Okay, fine,” she grumbled, sinking into a bar stool next to Cheryl. “Maybe I am. But that’s not the point.”

“That’s _exactly_ the point, dear cousin,” Cheryl quipped. “Too much time with your head in the books! All work and no play makes Betty a dull girl.”

“Hey! I’m up for valedictorian this year, I have a lot on my plate,” she protested, only to be ignored. 

“Which is _exactly_ why I am taking charge of your dating life and setting you up with Archie’s friend,” Veronica continued, quickly waving over their bartender friend. “Toni! Two shots, my dear.”

“Of?” 

“Courage,” she replied with a sneaky grin, and Toni laughed. “Our Bettykins has a _big_ date tonight!” 

_“Blind_ date,” Betty corrected firmly. “Not big.”

“Who says he’s not big?”

_“Veronica!”_

“What? He could be!” 

“You say that like it’s supposed to change my mind.”

“Well, it would be _one_ of many selling points.” Veronica slung an arm around Betty’s shoulder, listing reasons off on her fingers. “He’s also super smart, he’s on the football team, and he’s Archie’s _star receiver_.”

“So?” Was that supposed to be impressive? Betty was involved in way more. 

“So, he’s _hot!_ And you’re _available._ Live a little!” Veronica gave her a friendly little nudge. “I’m not saying you have to marry the guy—just have a little fun tonight.”

Toni returned with two large shot glasses, filled with something pink and orange. “This should help.” 

Betty picked one up and frowned into the glass. “What is it?” 

_“Sex on the beach_ ,” Toni said with a wink. “Exactly what you need, apparently.”

Betty groaned, setting the glass back down in defeat. “When did my sex life become such a popular topic of conversation?”

“Since you stopped having one,” Cheryl said with a dry laugh. She downed the rest of her margarita, hopped off her stool, and stepped right up to Betty. “Not to fret, dear cousin! Your dry spell ends _tonight.”_

She reached up to tug Betty’s hair out of its tight ponytail, long strands falling past her shoulders in waves. “Hey—c'mon!” she cried. “What’s wrong with the ponytail?” 

“It screams _tightwad_ , not tight pussy,” Cheryl replied with a mischievous grin, using her hands to scrunch and fluff her waves. 

_“Cheryl —"_

“And _this,”_ she interrupted sternly, pawing at her denim jacket, “also has to go.” She shoved it off, revealing the black lace bodysuit she borrowed from Veronica, tucked neatly into a pair of crisp, white jeans. Cheryl made a squeal of delight as she stepped back to appraise her outfit. “Veronica, where _did_ you get this top? It’s fabulous!”

“Isn’t it? It’s from that new boutique downtown! And yes—" She nudged Cheryl knowingly, “they have it in red.”

Cheryl’s eyes sparkled as she admired the lace bodice. “Oh, I approve. I approve _so_ hard.”

Veronica clapped giddily. “See, B! I told you lace was the move.”

“Lace is _always_ the move,” Cheryl emphasized. She then pulled a lip gloss out of her purse, unscrewing it and placing the bottom half in Betty’s hand. “Hold.” 

_Seduce Scarlet,_ the label said. “Cheryl, I don’t—"

 _“Trust me,”_ Cheryl interrupted, grabbing her chin forcefully and brushing a light coat on her lips. 

When she finally took a peak in the mirror behind the bar, she hardly recognized her reflection. Red lips, wavy hair, lacy bustier—it was all so different. 

But oddly enough, she didn’t hate it. She would never admit it to Cheryl and Veronica, but…she actually sort of _liked_ it. It felt new and daring—and totally out of her comfort zone.

That was really the whole point of tonight. The borrowed wardrobe, the blind date—all part of Veronica’s master plan to get Betty out of her comfort zone. So far, it was working. 

Someone shouted Veronica’s name from behind and they turned to see Archie waving by the entrance, a brown-haired guy following close behind. Her date, she assumed. 

“So?! What do you think?” Veronica whispered, nudging her excitedly. “Cute, right?! He’s gonna look _so_ good on your arm, B.” 

_He is pretty cute,_ she agreed silently. He was tall, well built, and had broad shoulders that disappeared under a fraternity jacket. When he caught her eye, he smiled, and she turned away on instinct, suddenly feeling anxious.

She figured the quickest solution to quelling her nerves was downing her shot— _and_ Veronica’s. At her friend’s surprised expression, Betty simply shrugged and said, “For courage, right?”

* * *

As it turns out, she didn’t need much courage. What she really needed was an _escape._

She found out Adam was a straight A student. And just like herself, he was also shooting for valedictorian. But it didn’t stop there—he was president of his business fraternity, executive vice president of the student body, and founded three other clubs on campus. He also had a full ride, thanks to his football scholarship. “And if football doesn’t work out, I’m also captain of our baseball team,” he had bragged. “Do you like baseball, Betty?”

Somewhere in the midst of all the jock talk, she began to tune him out. Not that she wasn’t impressed; the man did _everything._

But something was just _missing._

At some point during her date, she excused herself to the bar to seek out a distraction with Cheryl and Toni. “Where’s V?” she asked, looking around.

“She got up to dance with Archie...” Cheryl raised an eyebrow. “Betty, honey, what are you doing? Don’t tell me your date is over?” 

“No, no—I just...needed another drink,” she answered lamely, and Toni cringed from behind the bar. 

“Wow, he’s that bad, huh?”

“He’s not _bad_ , he’s just…” Betty thought about it, but couldn’t quite find an obvious flaw about Adam. “Well, he’s perfect, actually.” She hated using that word, but it was the truth. So far, she couldn’t find anything wrong with him.

There was a long pause as Toni shared a look with Cheryl, who suddenly got up and said, “She’s lost her mind. I’m getting V.” She bolted before Betty could protest. 

Toni poured her a glass of red wine, asking more about her date. After hearing Betty repeat his long list of activities, she said, “Wow, no wonder Veronica set you two up. You’re basically the same person.”

She frowned, immediately disliking the comparison. “Come again?”

“You’re kidding, right?” At her blank stare, she continued. “You’re both in leadership positions; you’re both competing for valedictorian; you’re both involved in sports—”

“I don’t play sports, T.” 

“Hello? You _cheer!”_ Toni waved her hand in a grand “duh” gesture. “And he plays _football._ It’s a classic jock-gets-cheerleader situation. You’re practically made for each other.

 _“_ Just because we do a lot of similar things doesn’t mean we’re made for each other,” she argued. “Sure, we have a lot of...overlapping hobbies, but I just don’t think I like him.” _Not the way I’m supposed to,_ she finished silently. 

“What’s not to like? He’s a smart, athletic, _hottie_. If I weren’t into girls, I’d be all over that,” she joked. 

Betty chuckled, grateful for Toni’s attempt to brighten her mood, but shook her head as she struggled to find the right words. “He's great, yeah, but...he’s just so…” _Boring? Dry? Predicable?_

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence—" Toni suddenly pushed Betty’s wine glass forward. "Go back to your date! Fake it if you have to.” She then leaned in to whisper, “Seriously, I’d go before Cheryl gets back with Veronica. You know she’ll try to knock some sense into you.”

“She’ll definitely kick my ass for ditching Adam,” Betty laughed, taking her glass and stepping back. “Thanks, Toni.” The girl winked in reply as she moved towards some customers at the other end of the bar.

The next few seconds seemed to happen in slow motion: Betty turning away from the bar; someone crashing into her, red wine leaping out of her glass, down her shirt, and staining her pristine white jeans _right_ in her crotch and thigh area.

Betty froze up, mouth open in shock, as she stared down at her effectively ruined pants. 

_“That_ was a shot of Johnnie Walker Blue that you just spilled.”

Her gaze snapped up to meet the angry blue eyes of a dark haired stranger. _“Me?”_ she asked, incredulously. 

He impatiently waved his now-empty shot glass in one hand. “Yes, _you._ Do you have any idea how much this costs?” 

Betty was offended by his accusation. “Hang on, let’s get something straight: _You_ ran into _me.”_

The dark-haired stranger rolled his eyes, angrily muttering, “Yeah, okay, whatever,” as he tried to move around her. 

But Betty took a stubborn step in his direction, effectively blocking his path to the bar. “Listen, pal—I’m not moving until you give me an apology.”

He was clearly surprised by her demand. “You’re joking.”

“I’m really not,” she deadpanned, planting her feet and crossing her arms. 

He briefly looked her up and down, carefully considering his answer before heaving an exaggerated sigh. “Alright. I’m... _sorry._ ”

Betty had started to nod, but then he added: “...that you spilled wine all over your jeans.” 

Her mouth dropped in shock for the second time that night, completely unprepared for that answer; that was _not_ the apology she was looking for. In her daze, he had stepped around her, taking a seat at the bar. After a few stunned moments, she whirled around, angrily tapping the stranger on the shoulder. _“Excuse me?”_

“You’re excused” was his cheeky reply. 

She wanted to scream. “What is wrong with you?!” 

“Well, I just lost a forty-dollar shot. Didn’t we cover this already? When _you_ bumped into _me?”_

Now she wanted to kick his ass. She opened her mouth to reply when someone called her name from behind. It was Adam. 

“Hey! I wasn’t sure if you wanted to order any food, but…” Adam trailed off when she turned around, eyes widening in shock at her stained jeans.

She bit her lip, now fully embarrassed by her appearance. “Yeah, it sorta just happened…”

Adam was wrinkling his nose, looking at her strangely, now. “Ew, god, aren’t you girls more prepared?”

“Sorry...what?” She was thoroughly confused. 

“I mean, don’t you have, like, a tampon or something?”

 _Oh, God, no._ Betty stepped towards him in panic when she realized what he was thinking. “No, Adam, that’s not—“ 

She cut herself off when she saw him cringe and lean backwards. “Wait a minute...is this _gross_ to you?” she asked, gesturing to her red stained crotch. 

“I—um, well—“ Adam stuttered, unsure how to answer. “Yeah?”

_Wow. Wrong answer._

She straightened, suddenly not giving a damn about how she looked or the rest of this date. “It’s _wine_ , you jackass. But glad to know where you stand on the female reproductive system.”

He flushed bright red with embarrassment. “W-What?”

 _“Wine_ ,” Betty repeated, placing her hands on her hips in anger. “You know, for a fellow valedictorian, you’re pretty dense. I guess you’ve studied everything except women.”

Still red-faced, Adam reached out a tentative hand in apology, but she moved away. “Yeah….no. This is over.” No way in hell was she going to date someone whose instinct was to be disgusted by a _period—_ something so normal for a girl. 

Stifled laughter broke her thoughts as she watched Adam awkwardly leave the bar. Betty turned in irritation, facing the stranger who was silently laughing into one of his hands. “Is my misery amusing to you?”

“Misery?” The laughter stopped. “Oh, please. That was the fastest 180 I’ve ever seen on a date. You were practically _looking_ for a reason to turn him down.”

“I was _not,”_ she argued, anger flaring once more. _Who did he think he was?_

“You should be thanking me, actually. That’s two things you owe me, now.”

“See, you keep speaking in _stupid,”_ she snapped sarcastically, "and I don’t speak that language. Care to translate?”

Something akin to amusement flashed in his eyes. “A new shot of Johnnie Walker Blue,” he held up one finger, “and a ‘thank you’ for helping you get rid of the most idiotic man in the world.” He waved two fingers with a smirk, and Betty’s mouth dropped again, caught off guard for the millionth time that night. 

She was debating on her next comeback when he suddenly reached over, placing his fingers under her chin to shut her mouth. “Don’t wanna catch flies.” 

_He really just—?!_

“Betty! What are you—” She had turned at the sound of Veronica’s voice, only to be greeted by a loud shriek and the horrified face of her best friend. “What the hell happened?!”

Betty dragged a tired hand over her face, suddenly feeling exhausted by this evening's rollercoaster of emotions. _“Wine_ happened. I’m going home, V.” 

“Home? No, no, no—you can’t go home!” Veronica looked at Cheryl desperately, who snapped her fingers to get Toni’s attention, waving her over.

“Betty? Oh my god!” Toni looked at her with pity. “I might have some baking soda around here somewhere…”

“No, I really—“

“Yes!” Veronica clapped excitedly at Toni’s idea. “We’ll get that stain right out and you’ll be back to Adam in—“

“The date’s _over,_ V,” she interrupted. “Thank you, but I’m going home.” 

* * *

Betty was glad she went home when she did. Her first class of senior year started at eight in the morning, and she woke up well-rested.

Like all of her classes, she arrived extra early—thirty minutes early, to be exact. For an eight AM class, she expected to be the first one there. So she was more than surprised to find someone already in the room when she walked in. His back was turned to her, and she heard him typing away on a laptop. He wore a grey beanie and a leather jacket—an interesting combination, she thought. 

Betty was so thrown off by _not_ being the first one there, that she was questioning if she had the right lecture hall. “Excuse me,” she said politely, approaching the guy from behind. “Is this Psych 143?”

The guy swiftly held up a finger, silently telling her to wait while he hurriedly finished up a sentence on his screen. When he finally turned around in his seat, she was shocked to come face-to-face with the guy from the bar. 

_“You?”_ they both said. 

_“You’re_ in Psych 143?” she asked in disbelief. 

“Am I?” He paused, taking an overly-dramatic glance around the room. “Evidently I am.”

 _Smartass._ “Can you be serious?” 

“Can you unclench?” he fired back. “Jeez, you were more fun last night, and I didn’t even like you then.”

“Fun? Ruining my date was _fun_ for you?”

He rolled his eyes, returning his attention back to his laptop. “Oh please, quit the act.”

_“Excuse me?”_

“You can stop pretending you actually liked him; we both know you self-sabotaged your own date.”

It was at that perfect moment that the door opened and Adam walked in, carrying two cups of coffee. “Hey! There you are.” 

After the wine-incident last night, Adam had texted her, apologizing for his behavior. He sounded sincere, so she decided to give him a second chance. If not for herself, then at least to appease Veronica, who felt horrible that the date went so badly. 

They had texted for a little while and discovered they both had the same first class. Adam offered to bring her a latte before showing up. 

She smiled as he approached, handing her a cup. “Thanks, Adam. Wanna grab a seat at the front?”

As soon as he was out of earshot, the guy in the beanie said, “Wow. You’re really gonna play the part, huh?”

She stiffened, feeling defensive. “What is your problem with me?” 

He glanced at her critically before turning back to his screen. “I thought you were different, but whatever. Hope you and Mr. Perfect have a happy, happy life together.”

“I—we—“ She felt flustered, stuttering as her brain tried to catch up with his accusations and assumptions. Finally, she hissed, “Stop acting like you know me!”

“I’ll stop acting when you stop pretending.” 

He made an obvious show of ignoring her, now fully focused on his screen as he typed furiously into his keyboard. So she left him with a huff, hurriedly walking down the steps to the first row, where she sat with Adam. 

Betty really tried to make conversation with him, but found herself struggling to stay focused; her mind was still stuck on beanie-boy in the back of the room. 

* * *

Jughead let out a tight breath as soon as Betty walked away. He probably could’ve gone without the snide _Mr. Perfect_ comment, but he couldn’t help it. The way she forgave him so quickly annoyed him. _She_ annoyed him. 

_Why was she still giving him the time of day?_ Jughead thought, watching from afar as Adam talked Betty’s ear off. She was clearly uninterested, only nodding in response to whatever nonsense was coming out of his mouth. 

_And why the hell did she look so different?_ He almost felt fooled, seeing her show up in a tight ponytail, freshly pressed shirt, and a pastel floral skirt. So prim and proper—completely different from last night Betty. 

Despite her making a total mess out of his forty-dollar drink, he could tell she was a fireball of sass. She had a DGAF attitude that said she wasn’t going to take any crap, which he enjoyed. Especially when she shot down Adam for his immaturity; _hilarious,_ albeit a bit rash.

Now, he was questioning which Betty was the real one: the spunky, feisty girl from last night, or this pristine and delicate girl he was seeing now?

Jughead was so lost in his thoughts, he hardly noticed the class filling up until he heard, “Welcome to Psych 143, otherwise known as _The Psychology of Love._ My name is Professor Burble.”

He directed his attention to their professor at the center of the room. She smiled, taking in the faces of her new students. “How many of you have looked back on a relationship and thought, ‘Wow, what the _hell_ was I thinking?’” A few people actually raised their hands, while others laughed, shaking their heads knowingly. Jughead couldn’t help but glance down at Betty, wondering what in the hell _she_ was thinking.

The professor continued. “I think many of you will enjoy this course. We’ll watch a lot of popular films to help us dive into the psychology of love—why some people fall for a certain ‘type,’ why others don’t, et cetera.”

She paused, walking over to her computer to project a picture of a couple on the big screen—a blonde, bombshell beauty, and a leather-clad rebel. “This week, we’ll start off with a classic: _Grease.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued! Comments and kudos are appreciated~ 
> 
> ↣↣ Follow my writing adventures on Tumblr! @alluringdreams ↣↣


	2. to my heart (i must be true)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You better shape up;  
> you better understand  
> to my heart I must be true  
> (Nothin' left, nothin' left for me to do!)"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot this needed to be posted by Aug 14 so now I am about to blast a couple chapters in a row...haha oops. Enjoy a little _Grease!_

Just like most valedictorians, Betty was quite the book-worm. She had to be, to be able to ace all her classes. Secretly, though, she was a total movie buff. And classic films were her favorite. 

Their assignment this week was to watch _Grease_ before their next lecture—something Adam didn’t do, apparently. 

“What do you mean...?” Betty asked slowly. They were waiting outside of the lecture hall, and Adam had just asked her to tell him all about the film. 

“You know, the important parts, the whole shebang or whatever.”

She was confused. “Wait—you didn’t watch it?” 

“Well...” Adam smiled sheepishly, leaning against the classroom door. “I totally planned to—really, I did! But I had back-to-back practices with football and baseball, and, honestly...I fell asleep watching it.”

 _“You fell asleep?_ ” Betty was genuinely surprised; she had found the movie quite captivating. “How?!”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it was all the singing… yeah, that was it.” Adam nudged her playfully. “You probably loved it, though, huh?”

“Well…” She paused to think about it, admitting, “I _did_ enjoy the musical aspects.”

Adam rolled his eyes with a chuckle. “Of course you did. You’re a girl.”

 _So...what?_ Betty narrowed her eyes slightly as she cautiously replied, “Yes...I _am_ a girl.Thank you for noticing.”

He flushed, somewhat embarrassed, and tried to backtrack. “I just thought, you know… girls like musicals and all that fluffy shit, right?”

Something inside her twisted at that comment. _Fluffy shit? Really?_

But before Betty could call him out, karma beat her to it. The door Adam was leaning on suddenly opened and he stumbled—quite ungracefully—through to the floor. 

“Whoops.” 

She recognized the voice instantly, lifting her gaze to meet that of the beanie-wearing, leather-clad guy from the other day. He blatantly ignored Adam, who was still sprawled out on the ground, and stoically looked at Betty as he said, “My bad.” 

The hard once-over he gave her outfit made her want to run away. _Why is he looking at me like that?_ she thought, feeling slightly self-conscious. Perhaps her mother instilled this in her, but Betty always did her best to appear pretty and proper. 

She caught herself when she began to question how she looked, quickly shoving that thought out of her mind. Why did she care about his opinion, anyway? She didn’t even know him. 

Betty shoved past him and into the lecture room, only pausing to turn around and ask, “Why are you even here? Are you always this early to class?” 

The guy raised an eyebrow in response. “Are _you?”_

Behind her, Adam laughed dryly. “You’d have to be crazy to _want_ to be here at this ungodly hour. I mean, who does that?” Dumbfounded by his ignorance, Betty turned and gave him a very pointed look—prompting an awkward cough from Adam as he realized his slip up. “I—uh—except you, of course. You’re not crazy! No, that’s not what I meant, you’re not! That doesn’t apply to you...” He continued to babble after her on the way to their seats, so Betty quickly tuned him out. 

She was starting to get pretty good at that.

* * *

 _“Grease_ introduces us to the classic ‘good girl falls for bad boy’ scenario—something we see quite a lot of. And there _is_ a psychological reasoning behind this.” Professor Burble was pacing up and down the aisles as she talked. “Since childhood, females are taught to be agreeable and docile; tamed and accommodating. But if a girl's inner life continues to be unexpressed, she may be drawn to the opposite traits in a ‘bad boy’ as a way of vicariously expressing her inner desires.”

Professor Burble paused her pacing to aim her remote at the big screen, clicking a button to display an image of a beautiful blonde girl and a mysterious dark-haired boy. “Sandra Dee and Danny from _Grease_ are a prime example of this. Who would like to tell us a little bit about our couple?”

The silence was deafening _._ _Crickets, of course,_ she thought, raising her own hand with an eye roll. Why was lecture participation always such a big deal? She never really understood why it was such a scary thing to others. 

The professor had glanced towards the back before shooting her a smile. “Let’s start here, in the front! What’s your name, and what are your thoughts on our young couple, here?”

“Betty. Betty Cooper,” she answered, sitting up a little straighter. “And I think you pretty much defined their relationship—good girl Sandy Olsson falls for bad boy Danny Zuko. It’s a typical “opposites attract” situation. I don’t particularly like it, but maybe that’s just me.” 

The professor seemed to ponder her answer. “Interesting…why is that?” 

“Well, personally I found it a bit sexist, the way the film portrayed Sandy.” Betty sat back, thinking back on Sandy’s superficial transformation from _pretty_ to _sexy_. “I mean, she starts off so sweet, and pure, and _perfect_ —and then she throws everything away for a guy? I just don’t agree with that. She shouldn’t need to change herself to get the man she wants.”

“Well, as a woman, I’m inclined to agree with you,” Professor Burble replied with a subtle smirk. She then directed her attention towards the back. “However, I am curious to see what our other volunteer was going to say. You, in the back—what’s your name?” 

“Jughead,” she heard, and Betty perked up a bit at the voice _—his_ voice. “Jughead Jones.”

 _So he has a name,_ she mused silently. _An interesting name, at that._

“And,” Professor Burble continued, “would you also agree that this movie is a bit sexist?”

“Actually, no. I don’t agree with Miss Cooper at all.” Betty bit her lip in annoyance, but kept her attention on the front of the room. “In fact,” she heard him say, “I think calling it sexist is a bit disrespectful to Sandy’s character.”

 _“Disrespectful?”_ Betty couldn’t help but blurt out. “She changed her looks and her whole attitude to be with a guy. That’s totally sexist, plain and simple.”

Professor Burble briefly glanced between the two of them, thoroughly amused at this point. “Care to comment, Mr. Jones?”

“Well... _I_ actually thought that Sandy transformed into a much more confident, empowered woman by the end—so I would argue that she embodied a good deal of feminism.” 

_Feminism?_ This time she turned around, meeting Jughead’s gaze across the room with heavy distaste as she retorted, _“_ What planet are you on? Do you even know what feminism is?”

“Do _you?”_ he fired back, and she narrowed her eyes. He continued. “Feminism ultimately means the equal rights of men and women—in all aspects of life. Does it not?”

She racked her brain. Despite his condensed definition, she was unable to pinpoint something incorrect in his statement. 

At her silence, he went on to say, “One of those rights is to your body—to decide what to do with your body, when, how and with whom. Sandy was simply taking charge of her own body and doing what she wanted. Danny didn’t force her to be with him, or ask her to change her clothes—she decided to do that all on her own.”

“So she conveniently decided to turn into a female greaser? To look _exactly_ how Danny wanted her to look? She never _once_ wanted to look like a greaser, no way,” Betty argued. “We all saw what she was like in the beginning of the film—pure, honest, soft-spoken—”

“A little naive, wouldn’t you say?” he interrupted.

 _Naive? Sandy?_ Betty stopped to give it some thought, but then he added: “You, not Sandy.”

 _“Excuse me?”_ she nearly shouted. He was calling _her_ naive? 

The students in the rows between Betty and Jughead seemed to shrink deeper into their seats as they witnessed this debate become a bit more heated. 

She silently fumed as she saw Jughead shrug and roll his eyes, as if dismissing her outrage. “I’m just saying it’s a little naive of _you,_ of _all people,_ to assume that the ‘innocent and reserved’ Sandy—” he paused dramatically to throw up some air quotes, “—was the _real_ Sandy.”

“Oh, what, and I suppose you think all the _leather_ and _cigarettes_ and bold makeup was her real self? Please,” Betty scoffed, turning back around to face the front. She was officially offended at this point, especially at his ‘you, of all people’ comment; how dare he act as if he _knew_ her!

“What I think,” she heard him say firmly, “is that the whole good-girl act is completely _phony._ The perfect-girl-next-door attitude? And those pastel sweaters and light colored skirts? That’s not really her. She may not know it, but that’s not who she really is.” Betty could feel his gaze burning into the back of her skull, but she refused to turn around and make eye-contact. “Now, the red lipstick, bold outfits, and feisty attitude? _That_ was the real her. _That_ was her way of rejecting the socially accepted good-girl persona, and recognizing who she truly was.”

And then, suddenly, she really didn’t feel like they were talking about Sandra Dee anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You're the one that I want—Ooh, ooh, ooh!_
> 
> Just out of curiosity...who do YOU side with? Betty, or Jughead? Let me know in the comments!
> 
> TBC with one more(like, really soon)!
> 
> ↣↣ Follow my writing adventures on Tumblr! @alluringdreams ↣↣


	3. won't you come see about me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who _doesn't_ love the Breakfast Club?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The debates over Grease in the comments made me smile soooo hard—y'all are just AWESOME. Thanks for getting into it, lol!
> 
> I've obviously missed the deadline on this by a LOT, but I also just got laid off...so my life has been a bit insane. Apologies on the delay, but hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this, and have to say thanks again to @miss-eee on tumblr for organizing this awesome challenge!

* * *

How the hell did she end up in this situation?   
  
She blamed _him,_ the sneaky little bastard, for actually having the balls to sit near her in their last lecture.

> _"Why do you always sit in the front?”_
> 
> _Betty jumped at the sound of his voice, Jughead suddenly appearing in the seat next to her. “What the hell?!” she hissed, startled. “What do you think you’re doing?”_  
>   
>  _“I’m...sitting?” She glared. “Speaking?” Her eyes narrowed. “Breathing?”_  
>   
>  _“Har-har,” she replied, voice thick with sarcasm. “I meant, why are you all the way up here? Tired of hiding out in the back row?”_  
>   
>  _“Ouch, my pride,” Jughead placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “You think I_ hide? _Maybe I should sit here permanently, then, just to prove you wrong.”_  
>   
>  _Her eyes widened and she stammered, “I—no, no, don’t do that.”_  
>   
>  _He sat back, throwing an arm around the back of her seat with a smug grin. “I think that’s exactly what I’ll do.”_  
>   
>  _“Are you trying to provoke me?”_  
>   
>  _“Is it working?”_  
>   
>  _Betty was bristling with anger. He’s been pushing all of her buttons since day one. And, now—he wanted to sit next to her? Just to spite her? She didn’t understand. ”What is your deal with me?”_  
>   
>  _When he glanced at her this time, his eyes were calculating. Almost intrigued. “Let’s just say...I’m awfully tired of shouting at you from the back.“ He leaned closer and added in a low voice, “If we’re gonna keep debating, I gotta do something to save my voice, you know?”_  
>   
>  _Betty shifted awkwardly in her seat, trying to cover up the way his low voice gave her goosebumps. “You’re infuriating," she muttered._  
>   
>  _Jughead scoffed in reply. “You’re just mad I was right about you the other day.”_  
>   
>  _“I don’t know what you're talking about.” A smooth lie—but a lie all the same._  
>   
>  _“Our little Sandra Dee debate?” He stared at her, but she said nothing in response. “You’re really gonna pretend you don’t know?”_  
>   
>  _She maintained her stubborn silence, pulling out a notebook and pretending to review the notes from last class._  
>   
>  _But he wasn’t finished, of course. “Well, I’m willing to bet that I was spot on about Sandy. And by Sandy, I mean_ you _...but you already knew that.”_  
>   
>  _She did, but she kept her mouth shut, anyway—because why the hell would she give him the satisfaction of being right?_  
>   
>  _So they sat in silence as the rest of the students trickled into the lecture hall. She only looked up from her desk when a familiar pair of converse entered her peripheral vision. “Adam!”_  
>   
>  _“Hey…” He trailed off, an expectant look on his face when he stopped in front of Jughead. But Jughead continued clicking away on his laptop, not even acknowledging his presence._  
>   
>  _Adam gave an awkward laugh and gestured towards the aisle. “So, uh—are you gonna get out of my seat, or…?”_  
>   
>  _Jughead’s eyes remained locked on his screen, but the edges of his mouth twitched, as if he was withholding laughter. “Oh. This is_ your _seat?” he asked innocently._  
>   
>  _Adam grinned, almost proudly. “Yeah!”_  
>   
>  _“Hmm” was all Jughead said, and Adam looked at Betty in confusion. She mouthed ‘I don’t know’ with a shrug._  
>   
>  _Adam cleared his throat a little louder, asking again, “So, can I have my seat back, man?”_  
>   
>  _Jughead still didn’t bother looking up as he replied with an easy, “Nah.”_  
>   
>  _Adam was so confused. “What?”_  
>   
>  _“Dude—” Jughead actually_ chuckled... _“I’m not getting up. So, take a walk.”_  
>   
>  _Adam glowered, looking like he was ready to throw hands. “Are you gonna do something about this?” he asked Betty, his tone accusing._  
>   
>  _She was shocked by his sharp tone. “Me?”_  
>   
>  _“Yeah, you. I’m only here because of_ you, _you know that,” he replied sharply. “So are you gonna say something, or what?”_  
>   
>  _Suddenly, she was struggling to recall why she gave this guy a second chance. He may look perfect on paper, but in real life? Not so much. The lights were on, now, and all of his flaws scurried out of the dark._  
>   
>  _It took her a few moments before she quietly replied, “You heard him.”_  
>   
>  _Baffled, Adam cocked his head to the side._ “What?”  
>   
>  _“Take. A. Walk,” she reiterated, slowly but sternly._  
>   
>  _Neither of the boys were actually expecting her to side with Jughead. Adam glanced between the two of them, grumbling an angry “fuck you” as he turned on his heel and stormed out._  
>   
>  _“Wow,” Jughead drawled out. “You sure know how to pick ‘em…”_  
>   
>  _“Shut up,” she hissed._  
>   
>  _It was in that moment that Betty decided she would ignore him for the rest of the semester. Starting tomorrow, she’d just sit somewhere else—somewhere_ far away _from him. At complete opposite ends of the room._  
>   
>  _She was pretty confident she could make it work, too—that is, until the end of the class when Professor Burble made an announcement. “We're doing something a little different for your next assignment! Class, please turn to the person next to you and introduce yourself."_  
>   
>  _Betty chose to stay silent, only glancing over at Jughead and catching his eye briefly before turning her attention forward again. Both of them were still not talking._  
>   
>  _“Now say, ‘hey partner!’”_  
>   
>  _Betty stiffened._ Partners?!  
>   
>  _“I expect you and your partner to complete the next assignment together, and be ready to report your findings next class. I will call on each pair at random.”_

So, here they were. Partners.   
  
Hunkered down in a private study room at the library one Sunday morning, _The Breakfast Club_ queued up on Jughead’s laptop.   
  
“Let’s get this over with,” she said quietly, loudly dropping her bookbag on the table. “I have a busy day ahead of me.”  
  
“Another date with good ole’ Sporto?” Jughead said with fake enthusiasm.   
  
Adam ended up dropping the class the moment she made it clear she would not help him with his assignments. It was obvious that he did not earn his valedictorian status the honest way. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she said tightly, “but Adam and I aren’t dating anymore.” She dumped his ass real quick after he asked for her class notes.   
  
“Oh, no?”   
  
To her annoyance, Jughead was fighting a smirk. “Ugh, look at you,” she muttered, pulling her books out of her bag rather aggressively. “You’re practically _giddy…”_  
  
“I am not. I’m just...surprised. Sporto’s not so perfect anymore?”  
  
“I never said he was perfect. _No one’s_ perfect,” she defended firmly, to which Jughead let out a laugh.   
  
“Maybe not, but people like you sure try to be…” he grumbled, sinking deeper into his seat.   
  
“What the hell is that supposed to mean,” she demanded, _“people like me?”_  
  
“Forget it,” Jughead said quickly, pulling his laptop closer. “Let’s just get started.”  
  
“No way—“  
  
“Look,” he interrupted. “It’s less of a you-thing, and more of a me-thing, okay? Just drop it.”  
  
She was still mildly annoyed, but could tell he was upset—projecting, even. So she let it go, quietly reaching over to hit _play_ on the movie.   
  
They shared a few laughs throughout the movie—how could you not, with Bender’s antics and Brian’s nerdy quips?—and stopped occasionally to address the discussion questions they were assigned. One of which asked to analyze Bender’s behavior towards Claire.  
  
“There,” Betty paused the film. It was the scene where Claire told Bender what her name was; he said it was a ‘fat-girl name.’ “Example A of Bender being a total dick to Claire. Why is he like that?”

“Is it not obvious enough?” Jughead scoffed. “He hates her.”  
  
_“Hates_ her?” Betty shook her head. “No, that can’t be it, because they end up together.”  
  
“No, no—he definitely hates her,” he insisted. “It makes sense.”  
  
“Well, clearly I’m missing something,” Betty grumbled. “Care to share?”  
  
He had to think about it for a bit before answering, “Bender’s just...different.”  
  
“He’s an asshole,” Betty corrected firmly.   
  
Jughead almost glared at her. “He’s _misunderstood,_ that’s all it is.”   
  
“That doesn’t excuse his behavior. He could still be nice, especially since he likes her.”  
  
“But he _doesn’t_ like her,” Jughead argued again. “She’s flawless—popular and smart. _Accepted._ She represents every single thing he hates about that place.”

“What... _school?”_  
  
“Yeah, school.” It interested her how very passionate he suddenly sounded as he began to explain further. “See, everyone at that school buys into the whole ‘do what you’re told and you’ll be fine’ attitude. They _blindly_ follow each other, like herded sheep.”  
  
Betty frowned, trying to understand. “But it’s not an attitude, Jug—it’s just the rules. It’s the way the school tries to keep students in line. So they can, you know...succeed.”  
  
He pushed on, her argument weak. “But that’s exactly what’s wrong, Betty. That attitude, that whole environment, assumes everyone can perform equally—it assumes that everyone is the same. Normal.” She noted how bothered he appeared. “But he’s not normal, and he doesn’t want to _be_ normal. He’s an outcast...and everything and everyone continues excludes him.”  
  
She was still processing his words. “So that’s why he’s such a jerk to everyone? Because...he’s an outcast?” _Is that why_ you’re _such a jerk all the time?_ she silently wondered.  
  
“Well, adding all of that to his abusive home life, he’s bound to be a little bit angry, a little bit...broken.”  
  
It was then that something clicked in her head, but she didn’t want to say anything just yet. She needed to put her thoughts together, first, before she confronted him.

* * *

Jughead sat next to Betty again on Monday morning, not too excited about Professor Burble making them speak. She’d overheard them arguing before class started, and liked enough of what she heard to make them go first.

> _“What do you mean you ‘agree and disagree’ with me?” Jughead had asked, keeping his anger on a leash. He wanted to have an actual conversation with her, for once. She was clearly intelligent, perhaps a match for his own wit. But god, was she infuriating sometimes! While he thoroughly enjoyed pushing her buttons, she always pushed him right back._ Always.
> 
> _He wondered if she did that intentionally._  
>   
>  _“We’re supposed to be partners,” he continued firmly. “Professor Burble will be expecting us to present together. You know, a united front, and all that.”_  
>   
>  _“Now who’s falling in line with everyone else?” Betty quipped. She sounded amused, and it annoyed him._  
>   
>  _“I am_ not _falling in line!” he protested. “I’m just saying—we’re supposed to be on the same side for once. I thought we were in agreement during the movie.”_  
>   
>  _“Like I said, I agree and I don’t agree with you.” Betty pulled out her notebook, sticking her chin out stubbornly. “Besides, the professor only said we were partners, not that we had to agree on everything.”_  
>   
>  _“I—” He struggled to find the words that reflected his level of confusion. He’s never been paired up for a presentation where his partner did not agree with him. It never worked like that. They would be down-marked, for sure._ Maybe they could hash it out really quickly... _he thought. “What are we not agreeing on?”_  
>   
>  _“That Bender doesn’t like Claire.”_  
>   
>  _At this, he shut his laptop rather aggressively, turning sideways to give Betty his full attention. “Again, with that? We’ve been over this so many times—”_  
>   
>  _“Yes, yes, you explained why he’s a total dick, and I agree with you there. Just, not on the other stuff,” Betty said. If she could feel the mess of frustration rolling off of him, she did a great job at ignoring it all. It absolutely irked him, the way she so casually flipped through her notes, not once looking at him or explaining herself._  
>   
>  _“Are you trying to be this annoying?” he blurted out. “Or is that just a natural skill of yours?”_  
>   
>  _He regretted the words the moment they came out._ Stupid, stupid, stupid, _he silently scolded himself._ Why do you always have to run your mouth?   
>   
> _But his words didn’t seem to faze her. “I just think you’ve missed a major point,” she simply said, ignoring the insult he threw at her._  
>   
>  _‘Well,” he ground out, “would you care to enlighten me?”_  
>   
>  _She looked up at him, then, and he was surprised to find no animosity there. Only kindness and patience, and a hint of a smile on her lips. “I would love to, if you’re willing to listen.” He didn’t know what changed, or when—but for once, there was no hatred behind her eyes._  
>   
>  _He didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing. He just stared at her, holding her gaze and refusing to break eye contact._  
>   
>  _“I think we’d all like to listen.” They both jumped slightly, their silent little bubble busted by Professor Burble. She smiled at them both. “You’ll go first.”_

“After overhearing a very interesting conversation, I’d like to call on Betty and Jughead to share their opinions with us today.” Professor Burble gestured to them to begin, asking them to speak on Bender’s behavior first.   
  
“Well, Jughead had a few interesting points on that.” Betty nudged him with her elbow, signaling him to go first.   
  
_I wish I knew what you were thinking,_ he thought, eyeing her warily before beginning. “I think that Bender’s behavior is largely due to his poor home life. He can’t be angry at home, so he’s angry at school.”  
  
Professor Burble gave him a nod, expressing her agreement. It was a little unnerving to talk about this subject out loud—because truthfully, he was talking about himself. He and Bender lived dangerously similar lives.   
  
For that reason, it was quite easy for him to side with Bender, to see _his_ side of things. Because he related, he spoke with empathy. “As if he didn’t have it hard enough at home, school made things worse for him. He’s an outcast there. At least in Bender’s eyes, he’s just not...accepted, by anyone—so why should he play by their rules? Why should he befriend the people that are quick to turn their back on him? He wouldn’t do that. He _can't."_  
  
“And that’s where we disagree,” Betty jumped in, finger raised as if to press pause on Jughead. “I think you’re largely underestimating Bender’s character.”  
  
He resisted the urge to laugh in her face. He and Bender were practically the same, but alright, _go on,_ he thought, silently laughing at the absurd idea that she knew him better than he knew himself.  
  
“Claire proves that,” Betty started.  
  
“Claire played the smallest, most unimportant part in Bender’s messed up life,” he stated plainly. “He couldn’t care less about her.”  
  
“Seriously, did we watch the same movie?” Betty said incredulously. “If he didn’t care, why was he always so wound up about her? Why’d he keep picking on her?”  
  
Why was she so stuck on that point? He didn’t understand her fixation on Claire. “Because he hated her—obviously.”  
  
“But, did he _really?"_ she challenged, and now he wanted to yell and shout, the frustration within him threatening to burst out. He was tired of going in circles with her.  
  
“Perfect little Claire Standish represented every single thing he hated at that school,” he argued heatedly, reiterating his point from the night before. “Everything—from the way she dressed, to the way she fell in line and conformed to the popular crowd—showed she didn’t have the courage to think for herself. Sound like anyone you know?”  
  
He didn’t mean to throw another shady dig at her, but it just came out; he was so _annoyed._ Betty and Claire were shockingly similar. If only she could see that.   
  
But she surprised him, yet again, by disregarding his cheap shot. She kept her eyes trained on Professor Burble as she replied, “I had to think about it for a little while, but then I realized...he didn’t hate her. He hated that he couldn’t _have_ her.”  
  
Jughead was effectively dumbfounded into silence, so the professor urged her to continue.   
  
“See, there are social cliques at that school that are obvious barriers of why they can’t ever be together,” Betty explained. He noticed the way she leaned forward, straightening with more confidence, and talking animatedly with her hands. “He’s clearly discouraged by his environment—so he believes that someone like him can’t be with someone like her. But the problem is, he was instantly interested in her. He _likes_ her, and he hates that he does, because he doesn’t know what to do about it. It’s like the classic boy-pushes-girl-down-on-the-playground sort of thing. He’s interested, but I think he’s afraid to show it. So...he doesn’t.”  
  
_Afraid? Of a girl? Of his feelings, for a girl?_ Jughead finally found his voice. “Back up—no way. John Bender is not _afraid,”_ he said defensively, more so to defend himself than to defend Bender.  
  
Betty rolled her eyes and shot him a look that said, _You’re really not getting it?_ “She calls him out on it herself, when he’s trash talking the clubs and orgs they were in. She says to him—” Betty paused to glance down at her notes, “ _'You’re just afraid they wouldn’t take you, so you dump all over it.’_ ”  
  
He recalled that line instantly and frowned as he started to realize, for the very first time, what she was saying.   
  
“Don’t you see?” she continued. “He’s scared of more rejection. That’s why he tries to push all her buttons. That’s why he doesn’t put effort into being nice to her. He’s _afraid._ He’s afraid, that someone might actually accept him for the weirdo he is.”  
  
In all his time spent relating to John Bender, had he really missed this most obvious point? It wasn’t even a blip on his radar, this possibility. Was Bender scared of rejection?  
  
Was _he_ scared of rejection?  
  
The more he thought about it, the more he thought it possible, regrettably so.   
  
He looked at Betty differently, now, taken aback by how _right_ her analysis was.  
  
Clearly, he had underestimated her. Severely. A mistake he surely won’t make again.   
  
“A fear of rejection,” Professor Burble praised, “Very interesting perspective, Miss Cooper. Unfortunately a recurring thread in romance...”  
  
Betty shrugged it off and sat back, as if her big speech meant nothing. “I’m just reading into it. I could be wrong.” He was almost positive that she was avoiding his lingering gaze.   
  
Jughead tuned out the professor as she went off on a tangent, diving a little deeper into the psychology behind rejection. He turned his head ever so slightly in Betty’s direction to say lowly, “You’re not...wrong.”  
  
He heard her breathing hitch in surprise, as if not expecting his endorsement. “Sorry?” she whispered back.   
  
“Are you really going to make me say it again?” They both looked up, and he slightly shook his head with an amused smile. “You’re right, okay? About…” _Me,_ he almost said. _“Bender.”_  
  
“Bender, huh,” she said, doubt clear in her voice. The disbelief written all over her face only confirmed his suspicions that _she knew._ This was her way of calling him out, the same way he called her out the week before. He didn’t know when Betty figured it out, but they definitely weren’t talking about Bender anymore.   
  
“I have a question for you,” he said, keeping his voice hushed. She didn’t respond, but leaned a little closer so they could converse quietly. “Given... _Bender..._ was a class-A asshole, why was Claire giving him the time of day?” _Why are_ you _giving me the time of day?_ he curiously wondered. Would she continue to give him any of her time?  
  
Betty took a few seconds to ponder her answer before replying, “He’s...rebellious. He breaks all the rules she can’t. And secretly, she’s tired of being everyone’s perfect princess.” Her eyes flickered in his direction as she added, “She’s more than just the stereotype, you know—she’s different.”  
  
He saw that, now. “I suppose I misjudged her...” he admitted.  
  
She paused, surprise evident on her face as she teased, “Have you been body-snatched, Jones? Or are you agreeing with me, again?”  
  
“Can’t you just take your win and go?” he grumbled—but he said it with a smile on his face.  
  
She laughed silently, looking down at her lap. It took a few seconds before she spoke again. “You know, just for the record...I really don’t think he’s the jerk he pretends to be.”  
  
“No?”   
  
“Nah.” She slid him a smile before turning her attention back to the lecture. “But, tell _Bender_ to cut it out.”

He chuckled at that. “Sure. I’ll tell him.”

And he would.

* * *

 _“And?!”_ Veronica and Cheryl nearly shrieked, prompting her to continue the story of her crazy partner, Jughead Jones.   
  
“And, what?” Betty leaned back in their booth, as far away as possible from the two jumpy girls across from her. “That was it! The end, _fin,_ ‘that’s all folks’!”  
  
“Don’t you Porky Pig me, Elizabeth Cooper,” Veronica said sternly, wagging her finger in her face.  
  
“Really?” Betty cringed. “You’re full-naming me?”  
  
“I most certainly am!” Veronica smacked her hand on the table. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”  
  
“Me? Ask _him_ out?” Her voice rose an octave higher as she laughed awkwardly. “I don’t—”  
  
_Like him!_ she was gonna say. But then, Cheryl interrupted, with a dry laugh, “Betty, sweetie, I love you—but I _will_ smack you before that lie makes it out of your mouth. Do _not_ tell us you do not like him.”  
  
Betty flushed with embarrassment. “I’m—“ She cut herself off with a frustrated groan when she saw Cheryl’s wave her fingers teasingly. “It doesn’t matter what I think, because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like me. You forget, we’ve irritated each other from day one.”  
  
“Absolutely irrelevant!” Veronica dismissed, turning to Cheryl and saying, “Clearly their chemistry will die unless we do something.”  
  
“Hey!” Betty protested. “My chemistry with anyone is entirely my business.”  
  
They ignored her. “Our services are required, once again,” Cheryl said to Veronica, with a long sigh.  
  
“Now more than ever.”  
  
“But do we have enough time to save them?”  
  
“It might be close, but if we take charge now maybe we can work something out…”  
  
Cheryl already had her phone out. “Way ahead of you, girl. So I found his profile _here_ and _here…”_  
  
They didn’t even notice when Betty climbed out of the booth, the two of them so deeply involved in digitally-stalking Jughead and concocting some plan to get them together.   
  
“Uh oh.” Toni began laughing as Betty approached the bar with a grumpy expression. “You look like you need a drink.”  
  
“Or two.” Betty groaned. She plopped onto a stool at the end and placed her head on the bartop. “Remind me why I’m friends with them?”  
  
“Because they love you and they’ve got your back,” Toni replied matter-of-factly.   
  
“Yeah, but they’re always meddling in my life!” she wailed, her voice slightly muffled by the wooden counter. “Why do they insist on running my love life? I mean, maybe they’re the reason why everyone they’ve set me up with is an epic fail.”  
  
“I take it Adam didn’t make it very far?”  
  
Betty raised her head and huffed tiredly, blowing a few strands of hair out of her face. “He took his second chance and ran it into the ground.”  
  
Glasses clinked together Toni prepped a couple drinks. “I’m sorry to hear that, hun. I know he seemed perfect…”  
  
“Perfectly _boring,”_ Betty sighed, slumping so she could lean her cheek into one hand. She narrowed her eyes at her friends’ booth. “Look at them, so chatty. They’re going to drum up the most diabolical plan, I just know it.”  
  
“Well then, take charge. Come up with something better. Something that’ll shut ‘em up,” Toni suggested casually, excusing herself to help a few customers down the line. Toni wouldn’t know how good her simple advice was until later.   
  
As Betty scowled at her friends from afar, some movement in the corner of the room caught her eye. A familiar leather jacket and a gray beanie, to be exact.   
  
She didn’t know why she was surprised to see him here; they ran into each other before.   
  
She glanced between Cheryl and Veronica—who were talking very animatedly now—and back at Jughead, a wild idea coming to mind.   
  
“I can take charge,” she muttered stubbornly under her breath, almost trying to convince herself. It was ridiculous that her friends thought she couldn’t control her own love life. _I could do it._  
  
Before her overthinking brain got the better of her, she waved Toni over. “So, hey...can you do me a favor and not ask me why?”   
  
Toni’s eyes gleamed and she leaned closer to Betty curiously. “What kind of favor?”  
  
“One where I take charge and I shut my friends up?” Betty offered.   
  
Toni grinned and slapped the countertop. “You got it, girl! Tell me what you need.”  
  
Betty scooted closer and dropped her voice so only Toni could hear her plan. She tilted her head towards the pool tables in the corner of the room. “See that guy in the leather jacket…?”

* * *

Jughead had fifty dollars on this game. It was a close one, too—both he and Sweet Pea only had two balls left to sink before the eight ball.   
  
Sweet Pea was tapping his pool stick impatiently on the ground, a loud distraction meant for Jughead. “Cut it out,” he growled, attempting to line up the cue ball with his solid _seven._  
  
“Okay, okay,” Sweet Pea said. He stopped tapping his stick, and instead began drumming his hands loudly on the sides of his stool he sat on.   
  
Jughead rolled his eyes at the noise. Like that would distract him.   
  
His _seven_ was easily lined up with one of the middle pockets. But Jughead always liked a challenge. He repositioned himself to perform a double-bank shot, and sunk the solid easily.   
  
The drumming stopped abruptly, replaced with Sweet Pea’s indignant groaning. “Show-off!”   
  
Jughead walked around the table with a smug smile, grabbing some chalk for his pool stick. He had one ball left, and then the eight. “You better actually have that fifty, Pea.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Shut your mouth and shoot already,” Sweet Pea grumbled, pulling out his wallet.   
  
A feminine voice cleared her throat, and he turned to see their favorite bartender behind him. “Sorry to interrupt your game, boys,” Toni said, “but I got a shot here for Jones.”  
  
He was confused. “I didn’t order anything.”  
  
“I didn’t say you did. Someone ordered it for you.” She stepped up with her serving tray, a single glass balanced in the middle. He still hadn’t moved, so she frowned up at him in annoyance. “Well, do you want it or not?”   
  
“What is it?” he asked, looking at the shot with interest. It was an amber color, probably a whiskey or scotch.   
  
“Johnnie Walker,” she answered, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. _“Blue.”_  
  
Sweet Pea has gotten up from his seat, coming over to slap Jughead on the shoulder. “Damn, Jones! Who do you gotta thank for that?”  
  
“I think Jughead knows.”  
  
Oh, he knew. He glanced over Toni’s head to the bar across the room, meeting the eyes of a familiar blonde. She faked a yawn with one hand—a very _dramatic_ yawn—and at the same time, slowly raised her other fist in the air. It only lasted for a second or two before she casually dropped her hand into her hair and looked away. While it was brief, he recognized the gesture instantly: it was the Bender. _The Breakfast Club_ had ended with a shot of Bender with his fist in the air, crossing the football field.   
  
He couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll take it,” he said, and Toni gave him a smirk as she handed him the glass. A last minute idea came to mind and he caught her arm as she walked away, leaning down to whisper so Sweet Pea couldn’t hear.   
  
Toni leaned back and shook her head at his whispered request. “You guys are something else, I’m telling ya. But alright, I’ll do it.”  
  
Jughead smiled.  
  
“Dude—that’s a forty dollar shot,” Sweet Pea nudged him hard. “Who’s your mystery buyer? Can I get in on that?”  
  
“Absolutely not,” he said firmly, placing the glass on the edge of the table.   
  
Sweet Pea huffed as he sat back down in his seat. “Alright, whatever. Keep your mysteries. Can you at least hurry up, so we can end this game?”  
  
“Sure,” Jughead chuckled and positioned his cue stick. He had a solid _two_ left, and then the eight ball. After that, he’d be fifty bucks richer.   
  
But as he prepared his shot, he felt her watching him from across the room. It was _incredibly_ distracting—more so than the ruckus coming from Sweet Pea, who was now shouting obscenities and loudly clanging his pool stick between the legs of his metal stool. Funny how one girl's burning gaze affected him more than this one-man circus.  
  
He took a glance at the shot of Johnnie Walker sitting patiently on the edge of the table. Waiting for him.

Suddenly uninterested with this game, he made a fast decision. He lined up a triple-bank shot—absurd for most people, but not for Jughead. “Aw, man, stop showing off!” Sweet Pea shouted over his noise.   
  
In his entire life, he’s only ever missed this shot once. That was today.   
  
Not only did he miss his shot, but he slammed the cue ball straight into the _eight_ , sinking it into the far-right corner. An automatic game-over.   
  
Sweet Pea was hollering with joy, throwing his pool stick down the moment the eight ball disappeared. _“I told you_ to stop showing off, Jones! Pay up!”  
  
Jughead resisted an eye roll as he quickly pulled a fifty out of his wallet. “You won, Pea, fair and square.”  
  
The enthusiasm with which he slapped the bill into Sweet Pea’s hands had him eyeing Jughead suspiciously. “Hang on, you didn’t lose on purpose—did you Jones?”

 _Of course I did,_ he thought, snatching his glass. He headed off in the direction of the bar, calling over his shoulder, “I always win, Pea!”   
  
And it was technically true. He didn't see this as a loss, because he just earned more time with his new favorite blonde. _That_ was a win.

* * *

Toni returned with a very big smirk on her face. Betty nervously drummed her fingers on the bar top. “So? He liked it?”  
  
“I’d say so,” Toni replied, laughing to herself.   
  
Betty frowned. “Why are you laughing? Did he say something? Oh god,” she dragged a hand over her face. “He thought it was stupid, didn’t he…”  
  
“Nope,” Toni said, popping the ‘p.’  
  
She was confused, now. Slightly uneasy. “Then why…” She trailed off when Toni set a glass of red wine in front of her. “What’s this?”  
  
“That,” Toni said, leaning on the counter with a wide smile, “is yours.”  
  
“But I didn’t order anything.”  
  
“You two are made for each other, I swear to god,” Toni groaned, rolling her eyes teasingly. “It’s from _him.”_  
  
“Oh” was all she could say. She was a bit stunned, not at all expecting anything in return. Curious, she looked over at the pool tables, where Jughead was lining up another shot. A small pang of disappointment struck her when she saw her drink on the edge of the table, untouched; _unwanted,_ she thought.  
  
_Maybe that wasn’t the right move._ She faced forward with a dejected sigh, feeling like she just made a fool of herself. How was she going to explain this, now?

She spent a couple of minutes trying to figure out how to justify her actions, but got frustrated and decided she may _have_ to avoid him. After a few shameful moments, she decided to return to her friends’ booth, ready to shoot down all of their plans because _obviously_ nothing was going to happen. She stood and turned, only to yelp in surprise at the sight of Jughead directly behind her; she hadn't heard him approach. They both halted, the abrupt movement causing her wine to slosh around in dangerous waves. She gripped her glass with two hands, and then glanced at Jughead, who was intently focused on steadying the shot he was holding. 

He glanced down at their drinks—both still full—and then at her, a pleased expression on his face. “Hey, look at that. We actually survived.”  
  
“We gotta stop doing that,” she said, laughing off her relief.   
  
There was a moment of silence as they smiled at each other, the air a heavy mix of awkwardness, relief, and intrigue.   
  
Her stomach flipped when he broke the silence. “So...I got your drink.”  
  
“I see that.” Her eyes flitted down to the glass, and then back up at his face. “I wasn’t sure if you’d take it…”  
  
“Well, you _did_ owe me.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but in a playful manner. “Kidding. Sort of. I thought it only right to return the favor.” He nodded towards her wine.

“You didn’t have to—“   
  
“I wanted to,” he interrupted, and then he winked. She almost fell over from shock; he actually _winked._ “You know, that’s some top shelf wine, Cooper. I’d prefer you down it before you wear it.”  
  
She looked down at her glass and laughed; she had no plans to wear her wine a second time.   
  
“I’m going to be very straightforward, because at the rate we’re going, it’s all or nothing.” Her heart skipped a beat when he paused to dip his head closer to her ear, lowering his voice as he did so. “I would like to _know_ you, Betty Cooper. The real you. Starting _now._ That is…” he stopped and leaned away, eyeing the jacket she had slung over her arms, “If you’re not going anywhere.”

He was giving her an out, but Betty wanted none of that. This man had been driving her her insane since the moment they met. Always catching her off-guard. Always surprising her. She never knew what to expect with him, and that fact alone was _thrilling._

She was wanted to know the real him, too.   
  
Betty tried to resist a smile, not wanting to reveal how truly elated she felt. But the corners of her mouth turned up, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. As she placed her jacket aside and sat back on a barstool, she looked up at him with interest and asked, “What would you like to know?”  
  
He chose to stand, but leaned against the bar in a way that brought them closer. They touched glasses with a _clink,_ and with smiling eyes he simply replied,   
  
“Everything.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally ended this in lecture and didn't have the bar scene, but then I felt like something was missing. How do we feel about this coming full-circle?
> 
> I'm feeling bittersweet about ending this, as this is my first completed fic. *happy tears* 
> 
> Thanks for your kind comments, they really make my day! 
> 
> ~ Follow me on tumblr @alluringdreams :) ~


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